Peering closely into the evil brain of the gross human sitting helpless before him, Whatsit perceived the man's chaotic thoughts. Within moments he knew how to best respond to the gibberish spewing from the gross human.
In an uncharacteristic move, Whatsit raised his arms and shaped his hands like he was going to grasp the throat of the bloated church leader. Narrowing his dark black eyes, Whatsit took one step toward the man and launched a series of words in a piercing mental blast he knew would haunt the man in the depths of his blighted soul. "Heed the words of First Peter, Chapter 5, Verse 8. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour."
Gasping for air, the fat man's bloodshot eyes seemed to bulge out of his face and a stream of yellow drool flowed from his mouth, pooling on his chest. His face drooped and his triple chin folded against his chest. He didn’t move again. An autopsy would later reveal he swallowed his tongue and died of a heart attack.
Whatsit could sense the evil human was dead. Carefully repositioning his sombrero, he turned to look at Jim Blunt. Blunt narrowed his eyes at the alien lizard and directed a thought. "Seeking someone to devour! You couldn't possibly be that hungry."
Cocking his head to one side and curling one corner of his mouth in a half grin, Whatsit shrugged his shoulders and ambled up to Blunt's side. A rueful smile creased Blunt's face and putting his arm around Whatsit's shoulders, they walked away from the death scene. The commandos moved back respectfully to let them leave the room. The deadly fanatics of The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany were no longer a threat.
Chapter 13 - Sublevel
Dr. Diane Hoffman's laboratory was housed in basement sublevel 4 of the historic, original Johns Hopkins Hospital building. The massive, red brick edifice was a Baltimore, Maryland landmark. Located on the medical school campus, the building was easily recognized by its beautiful dome topped with a tall spire. The building's outward appearance as a staid university campus center was very deceiving. Its interior had been modernized over the years to the point it wouldn't have been recognized by its architect, John R. Niernsee. Four sublevels had been carved out of the bedrock beneath the original foundations by secret contractors working for the United States Government. These sublevels housed scientific facilities dedicated to the creation and testing of advanced military technology. The building was known as the Dome to those people with security clearances high enough to permit them knowledge of the sublevels.
Hoffman's sublevel 4 lab was a completely self-contained eight hundred square foot space filled with the latest equipment dedicated to genetic research. The lab had its own water and air supplies and an electrical generator enabling continuous operation even if the power grid serving the eastern seaboard was disabled. There were no windows and only one thick, solid steel door guarded 24-hours a day by two armed MP's. Security measures and guard personnel increased geometrically as the sublevels dropped from 1 to 4. Every drop in sublevel meant the secrecy of the advanced research became more critical to National Security. Anyone other than Dr. Diane Hoffman, Major Jim Blunt and Major General Matt Collier, who entered Sublevel 4 was stripped, X-rayed, poked, prodded and guarded by an armored commando with orders to shoot to kill for any provocation. Before a visitor was allowed to leave Sublevel 4, he was again stripped, X-rayed, poked and prodded to make sure nothing was removed from Hoffman's lab.
Diane was bent over her electron microscope as usual when the massive steel entry door opened, and Jim Blunt entered the room. Raising her face from the viewer, she smiled broadly and motioned for him to join her. Blunt's easy smile was infectious, and Diane loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he was happy. Removing his jacket and hat, Blunt hung them on the nearby coat rack and ambled over.
Pulling a lab stool close to her, Blunt plopped down, put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her lips gently. "Morning, Beautiful."
"Good morning to you, handsome," she replied.
It had been a little over three years since the raid on the church known as The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany. During that interlude, the team had seen many changes. Tom Jenson and Lucy Smith had married each other and were expecting their first child in a couple of months. Jim Blunt had moved to Baltimore so he could be closer to Diane while she was conducting her research. One thing had led to another, and they were now living together quite happily.
Whatsit had grown to be six feet tall and had put on another 50 pounds of muscle. The alien teenager had decided he liked the Cisco Kid and his sidekick, Pancho, and every Saturday morning you could find the big lizard sitting in front of his television watching the famous Mexicans save the day and kill bad guys. At one point, Whatsit had tried to switch his trench coat and scarf for a black, western style outfit with brocaded sequins sewn down the chest and arms just like the costume worn by the Cisco Kid, but Blunt vetoed the change. To mollify the distraught youngster, Blunt had allowed him to switch out the white scarf for a brightly colored bolo tie similar to the one the Cisco Kid wore.
Dr. John Heinbaum was still crunching numbers trying to develop the mathematical theory underlying the fusion reactor powering the Chrysallaman spacecraft. Lt. Jerome McPherson had continued trying to develop better methods for charging the human-crafted power modules and had devised a way to use the Chrysallaman fusion reactor to charge them. So far, McPherson had built and charged 5,000 power modules, but he was severely hampered by the fact there was only the one alien reactor available to him.
"So what's new?" Jim asked.
Peering over the top of her oval shaped glasses, Diane fixed him with a look he knew from experience meant she had made a breakthrough.
"I think I have finally figured out how to implement the genetic changes necessary to duplicate the abilities of the Lama and Skullreader in the brain," she answered.
Turning her face to the Electron Microscope viewer and peering at it closely, she explained, "The implementation of the specific genetic changes in sight and hearing were relatively simple in concept since they were based on specific organs in the body dedicated to distinct functions, sight and hearing. The abilities of Sanger and Gutlang weren't abnormalities caused by chemical or radiation induced mutation. They were actual genetic advancements in human evolution to specific gene sequences existing in all humans. As superior genetic advancements, the Sanger and Gutlang uniques were dominant rather than recessive traits. Experiments proved when my recombinant genes with the evolved, dominant traits were introduced to normal human eye and ear tissue samples, the uniques superimposed themselves on the existing genome and became the active, dominant characteristics of the sample tissues."
Pausing a moment to make an adjustment to a focusing wheel and scribble a notation in her notebook, she swiveled on her stool to face him and continued, "The splicing of the recombinant genes for the mental abilities was vexing. The brain controls everything about our bodies and has many distinct functions. It was essential any genetic alterations I made had to limit themselves to the telepathic powers of the Lama and Skullreader. Problem is 99.9% of the human race doesn't seem to have telepathic abilities. In other words, unlike the eyes and ears, I didn't have existing telepathic genes in humans to be superimposed by my recombinant genes."
"Okay," Jim replied with a wink. "How did that big, sexy, un-telepathic brain of yours figure it out?"
"Oh, stop it, you big lunk," she laughed as she playfully hit him in the chest with her fist.
"I was reviewing studies of brain mapping done at Harvard University when I made my breakthrough. Here, let me show you."
Rising from her stool, Diane moved to a nearby wall and pulled down a display like a window roller blind. A depiction of the human brain was revealed with lobes of the brain labeled. Jim's attention was drawn to the large frontal lobes, but Diane pointed her finger at an area just back of them labeled the Supramarginal Gyrus.
Like a lecturing professor, she said, "There exist in the brain two st
ructures just behind the frontal lobes called the Angular Gyrus and the Supramarginal Gyrus. The Angular Gyrus is the part of the brain that deals with intent, desire, pretending and knowledge. It also controls our language and spatial recognition. The Harvard researchers were able to pinpoint these functions by inserting probes into the brains of living patients and measuring the responses of those subjects to various stimuli."
Peering at Jim intently, excitement glowing in her eyes, she continued, "The Supramarginal Gyrus proved to be more difficult for the Harvard professors to study. Their experiments were inconclusive. The researchers finally conceded the only function they could definitively assign to that section of the brain was the ability of humans to empathize with others. The way the Harvard people went about determining this fact was by numbing the Supramarginal Gyrus and noting the changes in the patient. Every patient lost the ability to be empathic to the feelings of others."
"In other words," she said excitedly, "The patients lost the ability to read the emotions projected by other people!"
Looking triumphant, Diane swelled her chest, crossed her arms and stared directly into Jim's eyes as if she had just clearly explained her discovery and was expecting him to lavish her with praise.
Jim's response was a dull, "Okay, so what does all that mean?"
Diane's triumphant look fell off her face, and she looked at Jim like he was a cave man with a wooden club thrown over his shoulder. Exasperated, she replied drily, "I tested my telepathic recombinant DNA on Supramarginal Gyrus tissue samples from several human cadavers. Just like with the eyes and ears, my recombinant was dominant and superimposed itself over the tissue samples. In other words, I found the dormant telepathic center of the human brain! It was there all the time, just undeveloped!"
Now that he understood, Jim walked over to her and hugged her tightly. Holding her shoulders gently at arm's length, he peered at her pretty face, smiled broadly and asked, "So you are ready to do your active demonstration?"
Surprisingly, Diane's face clouded and her forehead wrinkled with concern. "I don't know, Jim."
Pulling away from him, she began pacing the floor. "All my tests have been on donated human tissue, not live subjects. I don't dare test human recombinant DNA on non-humans like mice or monkeys. I have to work with a live human."
Returning to his arms, Diane buried her face in his chest and hugged him hard. "My theories are sound. My process works with human tissue samples. I just can't predict what will happen if I test on a live human subject. The process might cause horrible, irreversible damage!"
Gently placing his fingers under her chin, Jim lifted her head until their eyes met. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, "I volunteer to be your test subject."
Her reaction was instant, but calm. "No, Jim. I can't allow you to take the risk! There are too many unknowns. What if something goes wrong? What would I do? I love you."
"I love you too, Beautiful, but you and I both know you have to demonstrate to the big boys your recombinant DNA works, or the dormant virus idea won't be approved. If you aren't successful, then the only scientist the world can rely on is Heinbaum." Smiling a wicked smile at her, Jim said, "And I won't let that weasily egotist take the credit for saving humanity!"
Recognizing her continued obstinance, Jim added, "I'm the perfect candidate." He began ticking off his qualifications on his fingers. "I'm already part of the project. I know what the desired unique abilities are and how they're supposed to work. I'm best friends with an alien lizard who can do telepathy."
"And," he added with a sly smile. "I sleep with a gorgeous scientist who will make sure I receive the best of care while we wait to see if her theories really work."
Jim felt Diane nod her head against his chest and knew she agreed with him. He also felt the warm dampness of her tears as she cried into his chest. Holding her tightly in his arms, he smiled gently and kissed the top of her head.
Whispering tenderly, he murmured, "Don't worry, Sweetheart. Everything's going to be fine."
***
The following morning, Diane put Jim through a battery of tests to establish a baseline for his normal body health status. She measured his weight, height and blood pressure, and drew five vials of blood for later testing. She performed a series of eye and ear exams. X-rays of his entire skeletal structure were followed by an EKG and EEG.
Sitting on a stool after enduring the poke and prod, Jim watched her bustle around a work bench preparing her experimental dose of the active virus. Vials filled with different colored liquids stood in several racks near her, ranging in color from light blue to a bilious yellow. Drawing liquids from each vial using pipettes, she carefully mixed them all together into one vial. Jim watched curiously and noted that as she released the final yellowish green drops into the combined mixture, the liquid in the mixture turned perfectly clear.
With a satisfied look on her face, Diane turned to face him and lightly shook the vial of clear liquid she held in her hand. "It's ready."
Jim started rolling up his left sleeve and flexed his arm at the elbow several times. Diane looked at him oddly and asked, "What are you doing?"
"Getting ready for the shot," he replied mildly, looking down at his arm to see if his veins were beginning to show.
"Silly, I don't need a needle," she replied and reaching into her lab coat pocket, she pulled out a medicine dropper. "My virus can be administered orally. It will be absorbed by your body sublingually, so no shot is required."
Quickly rolling his sleeve back down, relief evident in his eyes, Jim grinned broadly and said. "Great! I hate needles anyway!"
Opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out, he waited for the drops, but Diane smiled and asked again, "What are you doing?"
Drawing his tongue back into his mouth with a bewildered look, he said, "Well what are you going to do? Squirt it at me?"
Laughing, Diane walked over to the nearby coffee urn and picked up a sugar cube from the condiment basket. Returning to her work bench, she placed the cube on the bench and carefully squeezed two drops of the clear liquid onto it from the dropper. The liquid was readily absorbed, leaving a normal looking sugar cube.
Diane picked up the cube and placed it in the palm of an astonished Jim Blunt. When he kept staring at the sugar cube, doing nothing, Diane put her balled fists on her hips and frowned meaningfully at him. Noticing her look, Jim quickly popped the cube into his mouth and felt it begin to dissolve.
Tasting nothing but sugary sweetness, Blunt said, "Don't taste or smell anything out of the ordinary. So when should I start feeling something going on?"
With a pensive look and a slight frown, Diane replied, "I'm not sure but several hours is my guess. The virus is designed so it doesn't cause a white blood cell reaction. Your immune system won't flag it as a threat."
"So how does this stuff work?"
"The mechanism is kind of elegant," she explained. "Think of a virus as a miniature factory using a hypodermic needle to deliver its output. The virus injects its output into a cell in the body, inoculating it with the recombinant DNA. The cell then becomes an incubator for manufacturing more of the virus which then inoculates other cells. The process multiplies geometrically. The dominant recombinant genes delivered by the virus superimpose themselves on the existing genome carried in each cell of your body and become the active, dominant characteristics of the targeted organs."
"Ok, so how about lunch. I'm starving!" he grinned.
Looking at him worriedly, Diane asked, "How can you possibly think of food?"
Putting his arm around her waist and turning her toward the exit door, he said drily, "Consider it my need for strength to see me through my metamorphosis."
Two hours later, Blunt began feeling feverish and complained of aching pain in his joints. They hurried from the restaurant to their apartment where Jim could ride out the sickness in the comfort of familiar surroundings. The aches became progressively worse and within an hour, his temperature had risen to 101. Dian
e tried to make him lie down, but at first he refused.
"It feels like I have the flu," he complained as he paced the living room floor. "I actually feel less pain if I keep moving. When I stop, everything hurts worse."
Diane studiously kept notes of her observations on his condition, noting how long after he ingested the virus each symptom appeared. She allowed him to have aspirin for the pain, but nothing else. As his temperature rose to 102, his eyes became bloodshot, and a short time later, he began sweating profusely. She finally persuaded him to go to bed where he soaked the bedsheets because he was sweating so much.
Four hours after ingestion, Jim began to get a headache which got progressively worse. He described the headache as a migraine and claimed he could see lightning flashes behind his eyes even though he kept them tightly closed. Diane alternated cold and warm compresses on his forehead and behind his neck at the base of his skull which seemed to ease his head pain.
Six hours after ingestion of the virus, Jim's headache seemed to subside, but he suffered a shivering fit, and it required several blankets to keep him warm enough to ease his shaking. At eight hours past ingestion, he fell into a restless sleep. Diane noted his muscles would occasionally convulse in a short series of violent thrusts and kicks. Fortunately, the convulsions eased up after a short while, and he seemed to settle down to a gentle sleep. She finally fell into a fitful sleep in a chair at his bedside, exhausted from ministering to him for 12 long hours.
***
Diane was awakened the next morning by the clinking of dishes. She was covered by a blanket where she had fallen asleep in the bedroom chair, and it occurred to her that at some point, Jim had tucked it about her. Getting up with the blanket wrapped around her and dragging the floor, she padded to the bedroom door where she could observe what was going on in the kitchen. Jim had set two places at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and was busily cooking something on the stove. He looked like he had showered and shaved. He was wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt and was acting like yesterday's sickness had never happened.
The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. Page 19
